The Marriage Pact

Vengeance

The Red Keep's lowest level was used for torture. It was said that it was safer to go through the fourth floor of the dungeons in darkness, because there were things one would not wish to see. But nothing intimidated Daemon Targaryen. He was the most frightening thing in any room he occupied, save perhaps the Dragonpit.

On this fine evening, Daemon was joined by the new Lord Confessor, who'd recently replaced the imprisoned Larys Strong, as they plotted the best method of torture to drag the truth out of their prisoners. Daemon wanted to have some fun with the unfortunate men, but he also had a job to do. The trial was to take place the very next day and they must discover who was behind the attack on his sons.

Unsurprisingly, the scoundrels had been hired by a middleman. No matter how long they were tortured, they could reveal nothing more than a vague description of this mystery figure and where they had been instructed to deliver the princes.

"Bronzegate?" Daemon repeated dubiously, when Othell let slip this information. He slowly rotated the iron in the fire, re-heating it. "Do tell me more..."

Othell did so, babbling on mindlessly in the hopes of saying something, anything, that might spare him further torment. He had no such luck. The prisoners were subjected to cutting, gelding, racking, and continual burning with the red-hot irons. Daemon granted them one mercy only.

"I shall not blind you," he told Fedor graciously. "We promised my nephew Prince Aemond -I believe you've made his acquaintance- that he could feed you to his dragon Vhagar once I was through with you. Perhaps you've heard of her? Largest dragon in the world? Now, if I blinded you, I would rob you of the opportunity of seeing her right before she feasts on you. And we can't have that now can we?"

Fedor, broken, bleeding and in every way brutalized, could only moan weakly, and faint.

***

Visenya and Aemond were awoken by a loud rapping on the door.

"What fresh hell is this?" Aemond grumbled, sitting up in bed. Visenya yawned and drew the sheets up to cover her naked form. "Come."

Daemon stepped inside. He glanced quickly over at the pair in bed before averting his gaze with a deprecating cough.

"Get dressed nephew," he said, in a tone which invited no argument. "We have work to do."

"What?" Aemond couldn't believe his ears, or perhaps he just didn't want to. "At this hour? Can't it wait?"

"No," Daemon returned flatly. "I'll expect you in the outer courtyard in a quarter of an hour. Bring a cloak. We don't want to draw attention to ourselves."

He left, closing the door behind him. Aemond collapsed back on the bed with a long-drawn-out groan. To think he'd ever wished for his uncle's attention...

Visenya rolled over, nestling against his chest.

"Don't go," she mumbled sleepily. Aemond caressed her back and tenderly kissed the top of her head.

"Believe me I have no desire to. But I suspect if I don't go to him, he'll come to me, and drag me out of this bed himself."

***

Having begrudgingly torn himself out of the arms of his delicious wife, Aemond met his uncle at the appointed time and place. Daemon was waiting for him with four saddled horses and two of his fellow gold cloaks.

"Where are we going?" Aemond asked suspiciously. It suddenly occurred to him that his uncle might be luring him out somewhere to kill him.

"The Dragonpit. We're flying to Bronzegate."